


Accept What You Cannot Change

by Cephy



Category: Welcome to Night Vale
Genre: Acceptance, M/M, Science, Typical Night Vale Weirdness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-26
Updated: 2014-03-26
Packaged: 2018-01-17 03:40:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,866
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1372594
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cephy/pseuds/Cephy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>How Carlos learns to relax and love the weird.</p><p>Spoilers for "One Year Later", if you haven't got that far.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Accept What You Cannot Change

When Carlos finally arrived in the City of Night Vale, his initial reaction was an odd kind of disappointment. Because it all looked so very normal, just an ordinary assortment of streets and shops and people and scrub brush that one might see in any reasonably-sized desert settlement. Nothing to suggest that it was, in all probability, the most fascinating and scientifically-uninvestigated place in the country.

But if the supposed strangeness of Night Vale was so easily detected, he thought to himself, then it wouldn't be nearly so interesting. Keeping that thought firmly in mind, he shook off the disappointment with a single, decisive nod and started directing the installation and set-up of their equipment, even going so far as to fill out the rather impressive stack of forms that the realtor's office had sent over. As instructed, he left the completed forms outside the back window, which was a little odd, but he thought perhaps they used a courier service that routed nearby. 

By the time the dust had settled, he was back to feeling eager and proud and ready to put to rest all of the crazy rumours that his former colleagues probably thought he hadn't overheard them spreading. There had to be perfectly valid, scientifically-provable reasons for _everything_. He just had to find them.

***

The first time he met Cecil-- _really_ met Cecil, anyway, that first town meeting didn't count since he met a lot of people all at once and yet didn't really _meet_ any of them, not to the point where he remembered their names. No, he figured his first _real_ meeting had to be after that incredibly unsettling radio segment where Cecil announced to the entire town that he was in love. With someone he just met. Barely. It was-- shallow, and somewhat contemptible, and completely impossible, and it was with that in mind that Carlos entered the radio studio, holding his old Geiger counter in a white-knuckled grip and just as firmly holding the belief that he would be gritting his teeth and struggling to be coolly polite during the entire meeting.

As he was let into the booth, as he watched the room's single chair start to swivel towards him, he was swamped by a sense of _presence_ \-- dizzying, almost, pushing at the walls, settling over his mind with the bones-deep surety that _someone was there_. He had heard the saying, of course, about someone's personality filling a room, had probably even used the phrase himself on occasion, but he have never before actually felt so close to smothering under the weight of someone else's self.

And then, just as quickly, it faded, leaving Carlos blinking as he started to breathe again, wondering if he'd imagined the whole thing. There was only the swiveling chair and its occupant standing up, first with an eager jerk and then, after a check, casually slow. There was only a man who-- well, he wasn't really tall, or short, or fair, or-- his smile, though, Carlos fixed on that, a shy crook of the lips and the barest glimpse of teeth. 

It was a really nice smile, actually, if Carlos were letting himself notice things like that. Which he wasn't, because this Cecil had probably already started a serial-killer photo collage of Carlos on his wall, or something, he said he was _in love_ and Carlos couldn't believe that for a moment, it just wasn't--

 _Breathe_.

Thankfully, high gamma readings were an excellent distraction.

***

Carlos managed to get back to the lab without incident, managed to say _something_ to his team although he couldn't remember what it was-- instructions, maybe, or reassurances, or it could have been his weekly pizza order for all he knew. The sound of his own voice was highly irrelevant at that moment, and thus it was tuned out.

He managed to get to the bathroom before his hands started to shake too badly, and even managed to lock the door quietly enough that no one came knocking to ask what was wrong. He was obscurely proud of that, considering.

Once the door was locked, he finally let his knees buckle and did a barely-controlled fall into the corner. He resisted the urge to pull his lab coat up over his head like he had done with his blankets as a child when awakened by a nightmare, and instead buried his face in his folded arms and tucked his arms tight against his knees and shook for a while.

Snakes. _Snakes_ , this time, and either they'd gone around and eaten all the bread or they really did materialize out of it. It was like the universe had taken a look at him and decided that the pterodactyls weren't bad enough, nor the clocks that weren't clocks and certainly didn't tell time, nor the animal corpses that had to be some sort of prank even if he could never find the device to launch them, nor the jet that he could have written off as a group hallucination if it weren't for the lingering exhaust fumes in the gymnasium. Nor that _damned house_. No, those weren't enough, apparently, now there had to be _snakes that used to be bread_ and he _could not understand why_.

There had to be a reason. There _had_ to be. There always was. The one immutable fact that Carlos had always known was that there was an explanation for the things that happened in the world, somewhere, if you could just find it. The exploration, the joy of discovery, of seeing it all come together, that was-- it was why he did what he did. It was what made the world make sense, made it worthwhile.

Carlos' head thumped against the wall as he leaned back to stare at the ceiling. "This town," he said to himself, voice surprisingly calm, "is impossible."

***

The thing was, he knew it was a bad idea to go down into the city below the bowling alley even before he started his descent. A large part of him was thinking very loudly about _health and safety plans_ and _appropriate footwear_ and _waiting for reinforcements_ , and he knew, he just _knew_ that it was a bad idea. But the rest of him was too busy realizing that here, finally, _finally_ , was something he could explain, here was a mystery that he could understand and show to all of these people, and-- well, it didn't quite negate the fact that there was a _tiny underground civilization beneath the bowling alley_ but it was still something. He _needed_ this, damn it.

But it was still a bad idea. So really, there wasn't any surprise or fear in him when the first tiny missile impacted against his leg, just a sense of resigned acceptance as the majority of his thoughts simultaneously went _I told you so_.

***

Sitting on the trunk of his car, Carlos sat outside the Arby's and looked up at the lights. For once not wondering what they were, or itching for his equipment or keeping his eyes uncomfortably fixed on the ground. Just looking.

Maybe it was just the inevitable relief at not being dead, but-- they really were quite beautiful.

It was the sense of _presence_ that always seemed to run ahead of Cecil that told Carlos he was no longer alone (or, at least, as alone as the Sherriff's Secret Police ever left one). It rolled over him like the leading edge of a storm, crackling with alarm and relief. Cecil's hailing shout, a few moments later, was a little strained around the edges. He had a tiny golden trophy clutched white-knuckled in one hand; Carlos wondered if he realized he was still carrying it. 

When Cecil was close enough, Carlos saw his eyes go to each visible bandage, one by one, and then unerringly go to each bandage that was _in_ visible beneath his clothes, like mere cotton and polyester was no barrier. Cecil's hand reached out halfway like he wanted to touch, but pulled back before it connected.

Carlos considered the man before him. Despite Cecil's-- _enthusiasm_ , Carlos had insisted on keeping distance between them, hadn't ever forgotten Cecil's obsession. And yet, when Teddy Williams had finished with him he'd found himself dialling Cecil without even a moment's pause to consider. Maybe it was his curiosity finally winning; maybe it was the memory of the voice coming thinly over the bowling alley's speakers, frantic and choked. Maybe it was a lot of things.

Maybe, for once, the _why_ didn't matter.

"I just wanted to see you," Carlos said, and discovered that it was true.

There was an unsettling moment where he had the sensation of heaving a vast mental shrug, and had to pause to make sure it was indeed just him and not one of the earthquakes finally manifesting. Then he shifted to the side, making room, and patted the trunk's surface next to him.

Cecil really did have a nice smile.

***

One of Carlos' team members running in the door with a harried look on their face was no longer anything new. This latest occurrence was a little different, if only because said team member didn't so much run in the door as crawl in through the window, their front doorway having been recalled two days previous due to manufacturer's defects and due to be replaced _any day now_ , no really, Mr. Scientist, we're working on it, in the meantime have you ever considered installing a skylight?

Still, it wasn't until the recently-returned Alia spoke that Carlos looked up from his desk. "Getting really strange readings from the empty lot out back of the Ralphs," she said, tapping one of their heavily-modified handheld meters. The others were already fondly calling them "danger meters", which-- well, it wasn't really scientifically sound or professional, but it was proving to be apt. They weren't quite fully calibrated yet, but each use improved their accuracy; Carlos privately thought that it was a result of the little bit of clock goo they had smeared across the battery plate, though the others all had their own theories. "Similar to the fields that were present during the Eternal Scout ceremony."

Miguel frowned. "There was an ad for Girl Scout cookies under my bath mat this morning," he said slowly.

Janet's eyes widened. "I think I heard my neighbour say that their girls were going to be starting their cookie drive this week."

Alia was nodding quickly. "The whole lot did smell kind of minty. Could explain it."

Carlos chewed his lip in thought, then shrugged. "We could always load up that hydro-cannon you guys were working on with milk, take it out back of the Ralphs, just in case?" If they were going to have a cookie problem, heading off the infestation with a good dose of milk right off the bat would probably go a long way towards keeping it under control.

A part of him, withering and small but still present, threw up its hands in disgust at the words, and wondered how it had come to the point where a _milk cannon_ was a valid option for any situation.

Carlos mostly ignored that part of himself, these days.

**Author's Note:**

> P.S.: okay, I swear I did not know that the latest episode was going to be titled "Cookies" when I wrote this. 0_o


End file.
